


Move Down To Me, Slip Into You

by bibliomaniac



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Cunnilingus, F/M, Face-Sitting, First Time Blow Jobs, except barry also dances, hmm yeah that's...about what happens, or sort of. it's in canon ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-24 22:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14364828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliomaniac/pseuds/bibliomaniac
Summary: Lup is not expecting Barry to be at the strip club she found herself at on accident. Barry is also not expecting Lup to be there.(Lup doesn't know whether either of them expect what comes afterwards, exactly, but they both know it was a long time getting there.)((aka barry is secretly a kickass dancer and then there's smut whoops))





	Move Down To Me, Slip Into You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShinyKipp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinyKipp/gifts).



> ok so for context i was watching the tom holland lip sync battle umbrella video, you know the one, and i proposed to mango that that should be either lup or barry, and then i came up with an au for it
> 
> title is from dance inside by all-american-rejects cause why not, but working title was 'hold me closer barry dancer'

Barry didn’t have a life. 

Or—okay. Fine. He had a life, just not a _nightlife,_ which is why it is _very_ suspicious that he has been disappearing every other night like clockwork to someplace that he denies going to in the morning.

Suspicious, yes, and also a bit sad, because Lup _likes_ spending time with Barry. They had spent most of the last cycle talking late into the night, either over an experiment in the lab or just curled next to each other on the couch in the common area. They had gotten very close, and Lup knows herself well enough to know she wants something more.

She had sort of thought Barry did, too. 

But she’s not going to wallow in her possibly unjustified hurt, oh no. Lup doesn’t roll like that. For more than a few days, anyway. She’s going to go out, because Barry might not have a nightlife, but this plane does, a very active and wild club scene that has left Magnus and Taako (and, in an occurrence they all wordlessly agree not to acknowledge, Merle) stumbling back at early hours of the morning, covered in glitter and giggling at nothing. She’s been out a few times too, in fairness, but tonight she’s actually going to have  _fun._

It is with that goal in mind that she dresses up in something low-cut, with a skirt just this side of indecent, and heads out to find a club that can handle her. Not that any of them can, probably. She is a _force_ tonight. 

She feels slightly less like a force after wandering around for thirty minutes or so after taking a very wrong turn somewhere or other, but finally she sees an out-of-the-way place, sleek and understated, with only the hint of flashing lights spilling through a crack in the doorway revealing the festivities taking place inside. It’ll do as well as any, she decides, opening the door and pushing her way inside. 

Inside is dim, save for the bright lights on the stage, which are flickering various colors. Onstage is a lithe woman in the process of removing her shirt, and Lup grins delightedly as she registers what kind of club this must be. _Perfect._ Nothing better for ignoring a possible nonissue than to watch pretty people dance and maybe get slightly naked. Them, she means. She doesn’t know if she’s feeling naked tonight, but it’s pretty early still.

There are a few private rooms off to the side, and she eyes them with a respectful nod—best wishes, fair dancers—before looking back on the stage. The woman, whose shirt removal has revealed tightly coiled wings that are now filling the stage, as well as a lovely bra that Lup would ask where to find if that weren’t really fucking creepy, is gyrating against a pole. Nice. Still vibrating with an odd energy, she raises her hand to signal for a drink. She’s not going to get drunk or anything, just—something to make these sharp edges feel a bit less awful, is all. 

(Okay, maybe she’s still doing a very small amount of wallowing, still. But that’s her business.)

She nurses the drink, taking a few sips every now and then, as the current act finishes and a new one steps on. They’re good routines, good music and beautiful people, but she’s still feeling restless.

She’s about to leave in search of a place with a dance floor when they announce the next act as the ‘man in blue’. She looks at the stage idly as the bright lights dim and a man walks out in a well-pressed suit, hat on and head down. He starts dancing to the song being played, something old-timey and classic, and she looks back to the door, itchy feeling only increasing. His silhouette almost looks like Barry. She _really_ wants to dance right now. She _really_ doesn’t want to think about Barry. 

Suddenly, the music shifts, going low and thumping, and the lights come up as the man—who had cast some sort of obscuring smokescreen, which is now dissipating—struts forward in a blue corset, blue boy shorts, and a painfully sexy smirk. The hat is gone, revealing a face done up in glitter and lipstick, but that’s not why her mouth is dropping, or why it’s watering. 

 _That_ would be because the man in blue, the one currently starting a clearly well-practiced routine, the one who has his hip cocked to the side and is looking down at the audience like he _knows_ how he looks, like he _knows_ every single person in the room wants to fuck him or be fucked by him right now, that man is without a doubt Barry Bluejeans.

She sits back in her seat, eyes wide, and finishes her drink in one gulp. She is suddenly feeling _very_ thirsty. In more ways than one. _Damn._

She can’t even really spare more than one dazed thought, _oh, so this is where he’s been going,_ can’t even start thinking about _why_ he might be doing this, before everything is taken over by _fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s hot,_ before her mind is full of the sight of midnight blue against pale skin, of the sight of the inside of his thighs as he spreads his legs teasingly before snapping them shut to grind against the air, of the sight of his lips and cheeks stained red and that _fucking_ smirk. 

Look, Lup knows herself. She knows along with her affection for Barry is an undeniable attraction—something in the way he blushes, in the quiet strength in his arms, in his cute muffin top or his beautiful curly hair or his silly smile when she flirts with him, the way he ducks his head and smiles at his lap. She’s thought about sex with him before; she’s gotten off to thinking about it before. But this, his hips gyrating, his hand trailing over his clothed dick and up his side, every movement dripping confidence, _this_ is hitting her like a fucking _train._

Her mouth is still open, and she knows her pupils must be completely blown, and she’s definitely starting to get the slightest bit wet as her mind flashes her pictures of those hips against hers, of that hand fisting in her hair, of those lips on hers— 

(Gods fucking _damn_ it all, she’s being a schmoop even faced with a fantasy made real right in front of her, she has it _way_ too bad.)

It is with her mouth open and eyes wide still that Barry finds her, having come down from the stage to (apparently) interact with the crowd, and any reverie she may have been in immediately dissipates at the sheer terror she sees in his eyes as he looks at her. There’s something else there too, a heat she might almost think were arousal if he didn’t look so trapped, lips parting for a moment before closing again, and she wishes she could reach out and touch him, tell him it’s okay. Instead she just mouths the words, smiles reassuringly before waggling her eyebrows, and he gives a small apologetic smile before the confident mask slips back on and he turns around and grinds down backwards against her.

It’s not close enough to touch, but she inhales sharply anyway, hands clenching at her sides. Whatever gods this plane has are clearly testing her. She’s probably failing. 

After a moment that feels like an eternity, her entire body tense as she bites her lip to keep any potential untoward noises from slipping out, he moves away from her and back to the stage, and she is finally free to give a ragged exhale. Fuck. This is so bad.

His routine finishes with his clothes still on (and with an absolutely fucking spectacular backflip that came out of nowhere), but she’s not even disappointed. Mostly she’s just reeling. Mostly she just really wants to talk with him about what the hell just happened.

(And, yes, partly she just wants him to fuck her or to suck his dick or to even just fucking kiss him, but that’s—she’ll put that aside for the moment.) 

Talking she can do, so she immediately heads to a vacant private room and asks the attendant, “Can you get a hold of the man in blue?” 

The attendant gives an apologetic smile. “He doesn’t do private dances, sorry.” 

“I—he’ll know what this is.” That’s maybe a lie. She doesn’t even really know what this is right now. “Can you ask him, please?”

The attendant gazes at her appraisingly, then nods. “Sure, I’ll ask.” 

Ten minutes later, there’s a timid knock at the door, then it slides open. Barry, still in his corset and shorts, is standing there looking a bit lost, and as soon as she does her best approximation of a smile given her current mental condition, he steps forward and jerkily shuts the door. Almost immediately, he begins talking.

“Oh my gods, I am so sorry, Lup. Uh—this—that chair is the designated audience interaction chair for my routine, uh—I swear I didn’t—even know it was you until—” He exhales shakily, running a hand through his hair, which is a nervous habit of his that usually she finds adorable but now just draws her attention to the glitter in his hair glinting off the low lighting in the room. She stares at him, utterly captivated. “Fuck. Lup, I never wanted any of you to know about this.” 

“Why?” she asks, voice smaller than she intended, and a bit raspier than she thought she’d be at this point. Damn. This is already going awful. Her ideas are usually good, but not this one, clearly. 

“Because—” His next breath is even shakier. “Um, I mean, none of you knew I dance, and it’s not something I’m ashamed of, but—uh—also—the, uh, reason. I’m doing it this cycle.”

She continues to look at him, steady and maybe a bit zoned out on the highlighter on his cheekbones. Being this close to him when he’s like this was _definitely_ a bad idea.

“Uh—so—you know last cycle, we had a lot of late nights together—” He bites his lip, looking away, his brows creasing, but her eyes are on the indent of his teeth against his lower lip. “Um, and, fuck. I dance when I’m? Frustrated.” 

She looks at his eyes, now, tilting her head. “I don’t think I understand, Bear.” 

His breath hitches a moment at the nickname, and she frowns thoughtfully. Interesting. His fingers pluck nervously at the seam of his shorts, and he takes a deep breath. 

“Look, uh—I didn’t want to tell you like this, Lup, but—uh. I really like you,” he says, cheeks immediately flushing red as he looks down, fingers now digging into the meat of his thigh. She doesn’t think she could look away if she wanted to, and she doesn’t, anyway. It feels like the entire room is holding its breath. “Like, um—a lot. And, uh.” A quiet, whispered, “fuck,” and he looks back at her, eyes burning. “Um, when we were spending all that time together, it just sort of—reminded me of what I couldn’t have here, and—so, uh, this cycle, I decided I would just—dance, so I didn’t, uh. Get any wrong ideas.” He looks uncomfortable, but he’s not looking away anymore. “So.”

“Barry,” Lup says, standing up, walking over to him, standing close enough to touch. “What the fuck makes you think they’re wrong ideas?”

He blinks. “Um?” 

“Like—fuck, Bear, I flirted with you constantly, got all up in your personal space—my soul briefly exited my body when I saw you dancing up there, holy _shit_. Why would you think I don’t want you?” 

His mouths form the words ‘want you’, soundless, eyes wide and flush starting to climb down his neck. “Uh—I—what? I mean—uh, if that’s—I would never presume, Lup, you have the right to be flirty without me assuming it’s an overture.” His mouth closes around a frown, like he’s thinking through the situation and not quite getting to a conclusion, and her heart warms with fondness for this man.

“Barry.” She touches him now, a brush of her fingers against bare shoulders that she knows isn’t fair, but in her defense this entire night hasn’t really been fair to her either. “What I’m saying is I like you a lot too. And I wanted you long before I saw you in a corset humping a pole—” He chokes, flush deepening even further— “But, uh, this sure didn’t hurt, you know?”

“Uh,” he says again, and he’s never eloquent unless he’s talking about science but Lup still delights a bit in having reduced him to verbal fillers. “Well.” His eyes drop to her mouth, and the drag back up to her eyes looks like it’s almost painful. “That’s…good to know.”

She can’t help the laughter bubbling up from her chest. “Good to know? Damn, Barry, tell me how you really feel.” 

He presses his lips together, fingers again fidgeting with the hem of his pants, which continue to be very distractingly short and which she’d really rather not be thinking about while they’re having this conversation. “I mean, like—yeah, it’s good to know! Like, uh, I can…move forward with that information.” She didn’t think it was possible to go even more red than Barry had been previously, but he’s proving that half-baked hypothesis very wrong very quickly. “I mean…fuck, Lup, I had never really thought about a scenario in which you liked me back. Kept myself from thinking about it on purpose, uh—I’m just having a bit of difficulty parsing, so—” 

“But it’s good?” she says, gentle, hand back on his shoulder. 

“Very good,” he says immediately, “Very, very, very good,” and she doesn’t stop the bright smile that blooms across her face. He doesn’t stop himself from looking down at her lips this time, and he asks, sounding dazed, “Hey, uh—could I kiss you? In, uh…light of this…revelation?” 

It’s a tremendously dorky way to put it and very Barry, and her heart swells as she answers the question for him by kissing him—light and short before she pulls away, but he chases the kiss with his eyes fluttered shut, and one kiss turns into two, then three, then they all sort of start to blend together, and numbers are the last thing on Lup’s mind anyway. His kisses are careful, but growing less so as he steps forward and puts a hand on the small of her back, his other on her cheek and then at the back of her head, drawing her closer. She puts a hand of her own at the edge of his corset, fingering at the laces where they meet in an obscenely neat bow, and her head swims.

Dizzy, she breathes, “So, I hear you don’t do private dances.”

He chuckles awkwardly, pressing a kiss to her cheek, her eyebrow, her nose, and it’s so sweet she feels like she might burn away. “I, uh—sort of thought it might be—disingenuous to do that when I’d be thinking about someone else.” 

 _Fuck, I love him,_ and it’s not the first time she’s thought it, but maybe the first time it’s struck her with so much intensity. But not tonight. This is too new. She’ll wait on that, wait for when there’s not a buzzing in her veins, for when she can say it calm and warm instead of frantic, for when saying it feels less like a need. She’ll wait. 

Right now, she grins against his lips and murmurs, “I’m not sure if that’s sappy or sexy.”

“Both?” he offers, and she kisses him again, but this time much deeper and a whole lot filthier. 

“ _Fuck,_ Lup,” he groans, and something about his voice in a low register, or maybe the bow at his back, or maybe just him, sets the simmer into a flame again.

“Barry.” She slots their hips together, not quite a roll but definitely a purposeful movement. “We don’t have to do anything tonight if you don’t want, but—if you did want to make an exception about those private dances, just an eff-why-eye that I would be super, _super_ down for that, ‘cause, like—I’ve been wanting to do something since I saw you on that stage.”

“Something,” he says in a voice that was probably intended to be teasing but is made substantially less effective by how strangled he sounds.

“I mean, Bear, I could give you a list of sex acts for you to go over if you want,” she says, mock-thoughtful as she pauses to leave a kiss on his jawline, “Or I could unlace that corset and we could start checking things off.”

“Lup,” he says on a gasp, and she triumphs before he shakes his head. “I, uh—yeah, uh, that sounds—great, uh, awesome, very nice. But I— _Lup,_ ” he whines as she nips at his neck. She draws back, only semi-repentant. “I’ve imagined what it would be like to be with you for the first time a thousand times in a thousand ways, and, uh—none of those was ever in the private room of a seedy back-alley strip club? I mean—I want it to be more special than that, I guess,” he finishes, looking uncertain, which just won’t do. She kisses him again, softer. 

“You’re a romantic and it’s adorable. Will your bosses get mad at you if you leave early?” 

“I, uh.” He gives a lopsided smile. “I mean, I don’t know I need to be here anymore, if I can be with you instead.”

She stares at him, then loudly announces, “Okay, we’re leaving right now, holy _fuck._ ”

“That’s what did it for you?” he asks, amused and embarrassed, as she pulls him out of the room by his hand, charging through the crowd with a single-minded determination. Even with the flame in her abdomen, she can still appreciate how right his hand feels in hers, steady and sure and warm, and she smiles before walking them out the door and towards the ship.

It’s a fifteen-minute walk when she’s not getting lost, which means she does after a certain point have to drop the whole silent-aroused thing, because Barry might be good with fifteen minutes of silence but she certainly is not. She also quickly determines that dirty talk is probably not sustainable or wise when she’s supposed to be getting them back to the ship and not ravishing him in an alleyway, so it’s with begrudging acknowledgement of the situation that she strikes up a conversation about imbuing complex spellwork into items. 

“No, but like, I don’t think I’m explaining myself right,” she says distractedly as she places her hand on the door that is keyed to open to the IPRE only, “Not, like—not a complex spell, I’m talking about a sequence of spells and then maybe some larger overarching spell to get them to run in order—”

“That would be interesting to test, sure,” he says on a nod, swinging their linked hands almost absentmindedly as Lup leads them towards her room. “Like, is there a limit to how many spells you can imbue into an object? And if all of the mini-spells are there, could you activate those or only the overarching one—”

“Right, like, I feel like there has to be some sort of ceiling there, there have to be rules. We don’t have any artificing experience but I’m sure there’s a book somewhere that we could use to set up some initial experiments—” The door closes behind them, and Lup casts a silence spell with a wave and a whispered incantation before grinning wickedly. “But for now I’d really like to focus on the experiments here.” 

Barry blinks, surprised at the rapid change in subject, then grins back, a bit hesitant. “Would, uh—would seeing how you react to, uh, certain stimuli be a good first experiment?”

Lup raises her eyebrows. “What stimuli are we talking?” 

“Um.” He takes a deep, centering breath, then mumbles, red beginning to rise back up in his cheeks, “Like—you mentioned a private dance.” 

“Oh, _fuck_ yes,” Lup breathes. “Abso-fuckin-lutely yes.” 

He laughs, clear and yet clearly embarrassed still, and gestures for her to sit on the bed. He stands there awkwardly for a moment, then swoops down to kiss her and nods decisively. 

Seeing Barry dance was an out-of-body experience. Seeing Barry dance for _her_ is the exact opposite—she feels every inch of herself, every pulse, every wave of heat, with an intensity that nearly floors her. She watches him peek over his shoulder, then put back on that insufferably attractive smirk and begin to sway to some music only he hears, undulating his hips in a circle, then running a hand down over the crotch of his shorts—gods, those _fucking_ shorts, she wants to ruin them—then falling to his knees and crawling towards her, rolling his body slowly up against her and smiling with eyes far too soft before flipping back until he’s facing her backwards, ass grinding in the air in front of her face. 

“Barry,” she says, congratulating herself mentally for her voice not wobbling as much as she feels, and also for her hand not being down her pants. She thinks she is doing _very_ well tonight, all things considered. “I am going to warn you before I do this, so you’re not surprised.” 

“Mmm,” he hums noncommittally, moving down a little so he’s grinding backwards into her lap.

“This dance is amazing, don’t get me wrong,” she says, still with a mostly even voice. “Digging it very much. But, uh, we’ve been doing like years of foreplay now I think of it, and also an hour this night specifically, and all I can think about right now is how I want to see how broken your voice gets when you have come so many times all you can do is sob.”

He straightens and whirls around, startled and red-cheeked, and she takes the opportunity to kiss him breathless, pausing only to growl, “So here’s the part where I warn you that I’m going to lay you out on the bed, tear off your clothes, and suck your dick, assuming you’re all right with all that,” before pushing him back against the bed.

“Very all right with that plan,” he squeaks, clearing his throat. “But, uh—Lup, I want you to make sure you get something here too—” 

“Point A,” she says, frowning at the clasps on the front of the corset before shrugging and saying a quick spell that slices it clean down the middle. “I’ll fix that later. That’s not point A. Point A is that I am absolutely getting something I want by sucking your dick, aka your dick. I’ve had some very nice dreams about it.” She cuts off any flustered comments about that by leaning down to mouth at a now-exposed nipple. His back arches slightly into the contact as he gasps, mouth falling open, and she catalogs that information for later. Nice. “Point B is that you can still do whatever you want to me after your dick has been sucked to my and your mutual satisfaction. Point C.” She’s taken to staring at his pants, perplexed and displeased to discover they have no discernible opening mechanism. “Point C, how do I get your fucking pants off.”

“Takes some doing,” Barry mumbles, choking off another gasp as Lup takes to his other nipple to pass the time. “I can get up.”

“Bad idea. Worst you’ve had all night.” Lup reuses the same spell from earlier, and the pants fall open.

“I’m beginning to think you have a vendetta,” Barry says, grinning up at her, and she makes a face at him before looking back down at the place she had been trying to get at in the first place.

“No underwear? How _bold,”_ she purrs, stroking an idle fingertip along his cock, and he keens lightly. 

“I—they’re visible in those pants, the, uh—lines— _fuck,_ Lup, please—”

“Point D,” Lup says, grinning at her joke, then slides down so that she can lick a long stripe up his cock.

“Fuck, _fuck,”_ he pants, hips thrusting up the slightest bit before he digs a hand into his hip, almost like he’s trying to push himself down. “Lup, gods, you—”

“You said you imagined this,” she says, looking up at him, his curls in disarray on her pillow. “What did you imagine, Bear?”

“I mean,” he says, voice high-pitched, “That was certainly part of some of them.” 

“Hmm. What were the other parts?” She sucks the tip into her mouth as impetus, and also because she’s very impatient. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses, “ _Lup,”_ and she clicks her tongue.

“That’s not very detailed. Try again.”

“I, fuck, I imagined you—with your mouth on me.” His face is bright red again, carefully-trimmed nails leaving the slightest impressions on his thigh where he’s digging them in. “All over, uh—kissing up my legs, sucking my—cock, um. Kissing me.” She melts a little bit. “I imagined my mouth on _you_ a lot.” 

“Keep going,” she whispers, before taking him into her mouth. 

“Fuck,” he says, breathy already. “I imagined licking along, um—the shell of your ear, uh, the tips, seeing if they’re sensitive, _shit, yes, like that, Lup_ —and then maybe I kiss down to your neck, see if you like being bitten there. High enough so you have to cast something so people don’t see in the morning. Gods, _fuck_ me, um—” He’s babbling like he does when he gets nervous, and it’s almost comforting to know he’s the same in this as he is in all things. “I’d lick your nipples, suck one of them in case you’re into that, uh—you’d probably be ticklish on your stomach, I’d thought, so I’d go to your legs, until—” He moans, and she’s not sure if it’s at the upcoming thought or at her pulling back to swirl her tongue around the head. “Until I can get my mouth on you properly, know how you taste, feel how wet you are, _fuck, fuck, Lup, please, I’m not gonna last long like this—_ ”

She draws off, murmuring, “You wanna eat me out, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice strained, hand now clenching and unclenching rhythmically at his hip as he watches her taking off her shirt, her bra, her skirt and underwear. “Yeah, I _really_ want to, Lup.”

“You want me to sit on your face?”

His strangled moan is answer enough even without his emphatic nodding, and climbing up to kiss him again, to roll against his thigh until it’s wet with her slick, is the most natural thing in the world. 

When they separate, Barry’s eyes are somewhere between glazed and wild. “Holy fuck, how is this real,” he says, small and awed. “How are you real?”

She pauses, looking at him, then smiles softly, giving him a much gentler kiss. “I could ask the same question.” Another kiss. She resents that life has deprived her of Barry kisses up to this point. Patently impolite, if you ask her. He kisses searching and reverent, like he can’t believe this is happening, like he’s trying to catalog everything about her as evidence for later when she’s not there.

She doesn’t plan on leaving him alone for long enough to let him doubt, though. “But I’m not gonna, because honestly, I’ve been waiting for this too long to waste time with existentialism.”

He smiles up at her, something unbearably fond and definitely real, and to keep herself from blurting out dumb poetry or something, she laughs and pats his cheek awkwardly. “So, uh. You—good with the previous plan?”

“You’re smarter than that,” he says, grinning, and she pushes at his shoulder, rolling her eyes. “Like. Yeah, _obviously_.”

“Don’t snark at me for getting consent,” she says loftily.

“Well. You have it.” He raises his eyebrows at her, looking a bit nervous, but mostly just unbearably aroused. “You gonna get up here?” 

She laughs again, this time just because he’s ridiculous and she loves him. “Sir yes sir. One Lup special comin’ up.”

“Weird,” he murmurs affectionately, then she shrugs self-deprecatingly and, with the lack of hesitation she’s known for, positions herself above his face.

“Uh, so, you can tap out whenever you want, like if—” 

And then, with the lack of hesitation he is not known for but that she could certainly get used to, he pulls her down by her thighs onto his face.

“Whoa,” she says, surprised, then hisses out a breath as he kisses her clit. “Fuck, Barry.”

He doesn’t respond, though he might be smiling. Or maybe moaning. Or maybe that’s her, because he’s giving little kitten licks at her clit now, and then laving at her entrance until his tongue slips in, and then out again, and then going back to her clit and flicking his tongue at it.

Her hips jerk when he does that, down into his face and cutting off his airflow momentarily, and she lifts back up, looking down a bit terrified and mumbling, “Shit, Bear, I’m sorry—”

But when she sees him, he doesn’t look like he’s mad or hurt or—his face is wet with her, and his eyes are over-bright again, and she might not know who of them moaned before but he’s definitely doing it now. 

He tries to pull her down again, but Lup tenses her thighs and stays where she is. “Bear,” she says, wondering. “Do you want me to fuck your face?”

He makes some kind of desperate, low-pitched noise, and she stares at him. What the fuck. How can one person be so perfect? “Barry, I’m gonna need an actual word.”

He gives her several. “Yes, yes, please, Lup, _please,_ I wanna make you feel good, you’re so _fucking_ beautiful—”

She’s not really someone who blushes, but her face is considering it at the moment. “Well,” she says, and for all she asked him for actual words, she’s having an awfully hard time coming up with any. Maybe it’s the pulsating heat deep in her gut, or maybe it’s just that the only words coming to mind are _I love you, can we please elope and have wild sex for days._ “Um. Yeah.” 

And then, because words aren’t always her forte but actions are, she rolls down against his face. His groan reverberates throughout her, and her mouth falls open as she tries it again. And again, and again, until she’s really just sitting and rocking forward, eyes squeezed shut and thighs trembling as Barry licks at whatever he can get his tongue on. “Barry,” she pants, “Barry, Barry, gods, _fuck.”_ A tingling warmth builds, radiating outward into her legs, and when he reaches shaky hands out to hold her firmly in position as he sucks on her clit, she finally falls over the edge, keening, brows knit together as she tries to direct whatever few brain processes are left to not collapsing on his face entirely.

When she can think past the buzzing in her ears, she removes herself from Barry’s face and tugs at him until he’s facing her, then kisses him, not as desperate but still as passionate. “Barry, holy fuck,” she breathes. “I mean…wow.”

He chuckles, also sounding a little dazed. “I think that’s a compliment?”

“Oh, absolutely. For once the compliments are _from_ the chef.”

“Awful,” he says softly, grinning at her, and her heart swells until she realizes. 

“Oh, shit, fuck, Bear. Lemme—you didn’t—”

“Oh, uh.” He gives a weak smile and something that might be a shrug if he weren’t horizontal. “Might’ve?” 

She reaches down and hears him squeak as she brushes against his cock and feels the come there. “Hot _damn_.”

“I mean, in my defense, that was—really hot.” He’s avoiding eye contact, still with that sheepish smile, so she noses at him and raises her eyebrows.

“Barry. Hey. You know what’s hot, is you eating me out like a fucking head champion at the fantasy Olympics and then being turned on enough by that to come untouched. That’s—Barry, you have no fucking idea.” She shakes her head, amazed. “You cannot even possibly understand what that does to me.” 

“I might have a bit of an idea,” he says, and his eyes are soft when he pulls her back into a kiss, when his hands roam along her back and bring her closer, until they’re pressed together and she can feel every inch of where their skin meets. They kiss like that for a while, soft and languid, stopping only for Barry to murmur a cleanup spell with an adorably wrinkled nose, and she’s honestly starting to get a bit sleepy, lips pressed against his shoulder but not moving, when she hears him whisper, “It’s probably too soon to say I love you, huh.”

She blinks up at him, for a moment not certain if she heard correctly. “Huh?”

His eyes widen almost comically. “Oh.”

“Did you—uh—” 

His eyes close now in a wince. “Yeah, uh—sorry. Not my best planning there, uh—you can—” 

She doesn’t bother hearing what she can do. She just kisses him again, pleased in a tired way that she can do that as much as she wants now. “It’s definitely too soon, but I love you too, doofus. And besides, we’re getting pretty damn old. Might as well fit in as much schmoop as we can while we can, right?”

She might be tired, but she doesn’t think she’ll ever be tired of seeing him light up like he does then, something quiet and beautiful, like the first weak strains of sunlight in the morning. “You’re right.” 

“Usually am,” she mumbles, muffling a yawn into his shoulder as she nestles back against it. “‘M good at that.”

“Yeah, you are,” he says, and she makes a happy noise at him starting to stroke her hair. 

As she’s dozing off, she has a sort of silly thought, one that’s probably also much too soon: it doesn’t really matter whether Barry had a life before this, or even whether Lup did, because the best life they can have is the one they’ll make in the years ahead of them. 

(Yeah. Much too soon, she thinks.

But she’ll still tell him tomorrow morning, just to see him blush and smile softly as their hearts dance together in the light of dawn.)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading this pile of dubious, badly-paced, put-in-a-blender smut with out-of-place fluff at the end. if for whatever reason you want to come to my tumblr after this and make me face myself, that's at [anuninterestingperson](http://anuninterestingperson.tumblr.com)
> 
> also this doubles as a very very very very late bday present for kipp! check out her stuff, which is amazing, [here on ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinyKipp/pseuds/ShinyKipp)


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